


Reclaimed

by betts



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alpha Ben Solo, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Caretaking, Claiming Bites, F/M, Fluff, Hand Feeding, Hurt/Comfort, Light Dom/sub, Master/Pet, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Rey (Star Wars), Past Abuse, Past Underage, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Praise Kink, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:14:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22194457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betts/pseuds/betts
Summary: “This one is silent,” Pryde said of Rey. “Very young. Quite docile, too. And she’s in exceptional health.”“She’s pretty,” the alphas would say. Sometimes they’d reach a finger or two into the cage to pet her. At first she did not want to get adopted, sure that Grandfather would be coming for her any day. Inevitably, though, each alpha who stopped at her cage read her chart, and she watched their faces as they found her status, highlighted at the bottom of the page: PREVIOUSLY CLAIMED. And they moved on.Or: After the passing of new legislation, Rey and thousands of other omegas are rescued from the abusive grasps of their alphas. She gets adopted by a new alpha and braces herself for the cruelty she’s grown used to. But Ben isn’t like other alphas, and Rey slowly warms to his kindness.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 139
Kudos: 1770
Collections: Ijustfellintothissendhelp





	Reclaimed

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that I've chosen not to warn. There's some non-con present but it's not graphically described, and most of it happens in the past. Ultimately this is a story about recovery.
> 
> This is an a/b/o verse in which omegas are like pets, but you bang and breed them too? I don't know.
> 
> EDIT: Translation into Russian available [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/9104734).

“Found her,” a man called up the steps, his voice distorted through the mask. Rey blinked slowly, her vision blurred from the drug Grandfather gave her every night. From her position on the ground, she could see a pair of heavy, mud-caked boots. She hovered close to unconsciousness but willed herself to stay focused. With her remaining strength, she retreated, dragging herself across the cold cement floor, toward her cage — her home, the only place she was safe. 

She had heard of these people. Rescuers. A special forces team sent to the homes of alphas who had been reported mistreating their omegas. Grandfather tried to keep her away from it, but the news was everywhere. Omega breeding farms, fighting rings, brothels, and harems were all being shut down in light of new legislation. Omegas were people now, sort of, and they had rights. Sort of.

The rescuer picked her up with ease, cradling her gently in his arms. He was dressed in black Kevlar, not a scrap of skin exposed. She could see his eyes behind the pane of his mask — soft brown, with a scar bisecting his brow. She tried to fight him, writhe in his grip, beat his chest. Omegas were rescued by the thousands, yet they could not be released free into society. They had to be adopted by an alpha or beta. She heard that the shelters had begun euthanizing the omegas who did not get adopted. Here, with Grandfather, Rey had three meals a day. He bought her presents sometimes, shiny trinkets and scraps of fabric. She wrote down books she wanted to read and he would get them from the library. The doctor came over whenever she was sick. Grandfather took good care of her. He loved her.

She did not expect to be rescued, because she was not being mistreated. The other omegas Grandfather bought — they had been mistreated. A few had even died, their graves unmarked in the backyard. But Rey was Grandfather’s favorite. She was special. He never hit her out of anger, only if she had done something wrong. He had claimed her after her first heat. She was — and thought she always would be — his. No one wanted to adopt an omega who had already been claimed. She would surely die in a shelter.

The man set her down finally, on the floor, propped against a wall. They were still in the basement, and hadn’t made it far from her cage. The rescuer’s scent was strong, almost dizzying. An alpha. She thought alphas didn’t have jobs like this, thought they were all like Grandfather, the people who made the rules, not the ones who enforced them. “What’s the matter with you?”

She gasped. No alpha besides Grandfather had ever spoken to her directly.

“What do you need? Did I forget something?” He paused, waiting for her to reply. “Shit. You probably can’t talk.” He glanced around the dim room, and went over to her cage, where he reached inside and pulled out Beebee, her stuffed dog she’d had for as long as she could remember. He returned it to her, and she took it hesitantly, her arm heavy, moving as if through water.

“You’ve got a nicer setup here than most.” The alpha looked around again. “If there’s anything else you want to take, you need to tell me. You’re not coming back.”

She didn’t believe him. Grandfather was wealthy and powerful. He was a senator. He’d find a way to retrieve her. Anything she brought would probably get stolen, but she clutched Beebee to her chest, and shook her head once. The man picked her up again. It was only a matter of time, she thought, until Grandfather came for her. She decided not to worry, and allowed the drug to drag her into sleep.

* * *

The shelter was far worse than she anticipated. It held hundreds of omegas. The cages were small and had no blankets. She was let out only three times a day to go for a short walk and use the trough in the ground that functioned as a toilet. They had taken her nightclothes and her soft leather collar, and given her instead a thin, papery gown and a vinyl collar that chafed her skin raw. The tag had a seven-digit number that matched the number on her cage. They never turned the lights off. The place was filled with howling and crying. They fed her bowls of fiber and protein pellets that were hard and tasted bitter. She watched week after week as more omegas were brought in by the dozen, yet adoptions were rare. Occasionally an alpha or beta would stop at her cage and talk about her as if she couldn’t understand them. The warden, a man named Pryde, spoke fondly of her, and showed her off to nearly every alpha who came in. 

“This one is silent,” Pryde said. “Very young. Quite docile, too. And she’s in exceptional health.”

“She’s pretty,” they would say. Sometimes they’d reach a finger or two into the cage to pet her. She recoiled from their touch. Pryde told them she was just shy. At first she did not want to get adopted, sure that Grandfather would be coming for her any day. Then she convinced herself he would not be coming for her himself, but hire someone else to do it. Jango, probably, his driver and sometimes bodyguard. Inevitably, though, each alpha or beta who stopped at her cage read her chart, and she watched their faces as they found her status, highlighted at the bottom of the page: PREVIOUSLY CLAIMED. And they moved on.

At night, in the warden’s absence, the guards had their way with some of the omegas. She knew it was only a matter of time before they did the same to her. She was not afraid. Grandfather often had parties in which he passed her around to his friends. She hated them as they were happening, but anticipated them for what came after. For days after, Grandfather would dote on her. Tell her how good and special she was, how much his friends adored her, and that they couldn’t wait to see her again. Enduring the parties was a simple matter of focusing on the rewards. Just a few hours of unpleasantness, and she’d be allowed to sleep for as long as she wanted, and she would wake to a big breakfast, and flowers, and gifts. She wasn’t allowed on the furniture usually, but after Grandfather’s parties, she’d spend the whole day on the couch, watching the big TV, cuddled in a blanket. He even let her have the remote.

But when the guards finally came for her, jeering and laughing and saying crude things about her body, she had nothing to look forward to. All she could do was close her eyes and pretend she was at home.

* * *

There were a few things for which she was grateful: No one had yet taken Beebee from her. Pryde seemed to believe he was running a tight operation, so the guards never beat her; if they left a mark, Pryde would find out who had done it and fire them. She was given suppressants, quality ones, so there was no chance of going into heat or becoming pregnant. Because she was pretty, her cage was placed near the entrance to the shelter, and when anyone opened the door, she could briefly see outside — sunlight, cars, trees. She could figure out what time it was, what season. As the door closed she could smell the fresh air, and came to anticipate those moments, sometimes waiting all day for someone to come in.

One sleepless night, some men arrived to drop off a few rescues. The omegas were shivering, naked, emaciated. They were so young. Rey tried not to look too closely; they’d die here, probably in a matter of days. When omegas were bad off, instead of being nursed to health, they were euthanized. At first it horrified her, but as the months passed and she grew to accept her own ill fate, she came to see it as a mercy.

Though the rescuers were masked, one of them was staring at her. She recognized the scar across his brow. Shame and embarrassment washed over her, hating to be seen her this way, and she turned away from him, curled up around Beebee, squeezing her eyes shut. She could hear the rescuers march off with the new omegas, but could sense him stay behind. She risked a glance — he was reading her chart.

“Do they hurt you?” he asked quietly. Her neighbor’s cage was empty; he had gotten adopted a couple days ago, as she knew he would. He was handsome, and had been a fighter, so no one had claimed him yet. She was dreading whoever would be put there next.

She nodded.

He seemed about to speak again when another rescuer called out, “Ben, buddy, c’mon.”

With one last glance, he walked away.

* * *

The next day, a guard woke her early. He clasped a leash to her collar and yanked her, hard, out of the cage. Groggy, she stumbled out and kept her head lowered as he led her down the long corridor. She was confused — they did not stop at the showers, nor the trough. They continued on, to the very back of the building, a storage room in which they kept food and supplies. A small cage sat in the corner, with a blanket and pillow inside. She hadn’t been given a blanket or pillow before.

“Inside,” the guard said, and pushed her toward the cage. 

She crawled into it, glad she’d brought Beebee with her. The guard closed the door and turned off the light. 

Silence, darkness, for the first time in months. At first it was relieving, and she slept more peacefully than she had in ages. She thought surely that they had pulled her aside because Grandfather had finally found her, and would be picking her up the next day. Best of all, no guards came to her that night. But no guards came the next day, either, not to feed her or take her to the troughs or walk her. The storage room was cold, and the blanket did not keep her warm. Grandfather did not arrive.

They’d forgotten about her, she decided. Maybe they had begun letting omegas die of thirst, or starving them. She lay in the cold darkness for dozens of hours, maybe days, sure this was the end.

* * *

By the time they retrieved her, she was delirious, ready and wanting to die. She could hardly stand, but they clasped a leash on her and dragged her along, stumbling. The hallway light was blinding and she couldn’t keep her eyes open. She was placed on a cot in a room she’d never been in before, what looked like an examination room. One of the guards tipped some water into her mouth. She coughed it up at first, but eventually managed to drag some down her throat. They pressed pellets into her mouth one by one, and she dutifully chewed and swallowed them. Her muscles ached. Her head pounded. The guard removed her soiled clothes, ran a wet cloth over her shivering body, and helped her into a new gown. She flinched every time the guard touched her, certain that soon he would use her body however he wanted.

Outside the room, a man was shouting. She caught only phrases — he was angry at something they’d done, and Pryde was stammering apologies. The guard removed her collar. Torn skin had healed around it and it stung when tugged away. She took what felt like her first full breath since she arrived. 

She was just pressing her fingertips to the raw, wounded skin of her neck, when the door flew open. On the other side stood a large man, the one who’d been shouting. Beside him, Pryde looked irritated, his lips pursed and face slightly pale. The man’s hair was black and wild, and he had a scar that slipped down his face all the way to his neck. His scent was so intense she nearly choked on it. But she recognized it. Recognized him.

“Get out of here,” he said, “both of you.”

Pryde and the guard left, and the man shut the door. Her heart was pounding, and she slipped off the cot and crawled underneath it, trying her best to hide behind Beebee. Tears pricked her closed eyelids. She could barely drag in a breath. 

“Hey,” he said softly. She cracked an eye open and saw that he was squatting down at the side of the cot, his hand held out to her. “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.”

She pressed herself against the cold cement wall, and imagined she was back at home, in her big cage on her soft nest, watching cartoons.

“You’re coming home with me,” he said. “I’ve adopted you.”

She inhaled sharply. Adopted. This man, this alpha, adopted her. She began to cry in earnest now. She’d been so blissfully close to dying, to being able to let go. Who knew what horrors lay ahead. As a rescuer, there was no chance he was affiliated with Grandfather, who had voted against the new legislation, and now he would never be able to find her. She’d never go home. 

“I’m sorry it took so long,” he continued. “They make you get a license now. There’s a test and — the red tape is a nightmare. I asked them to set you aside, but they fucked that up. I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. Her teeth rattled; her body shook.

“I know you’re afraid. You have every reason to be. But if you stay here, you’ll die. You were on the kill list.”

Good, she wanted to say. Dying here would be better than living through more of this.

He stood, and she thought he might have finally given up, but she heard some rustling, and he came back with something small in his hand, which he held out to her. It was a piece of chocolate.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You can have it.”

Hesitantly, she took it from him, and stuffed it in her mouth. She closed her eyes and tried to savor it, allow it to melt in her mouth, but she was too eager, and swallowed it down quickly.

Ben snapped another square off the bar and handed it to her. She took this one more quickly but managed to savor it longer. 

Another piece. She reached for it, but he pulled it away. She frowned. 

“Only if you come out from under there.”

She shook her head and pressed herself more firmly against the wall. 

“More for me, then.” He ate the square of chocolate. She gasped. He snapped another piece off and went to put it in his mouth. He would eat the whole thing, she realized. She inched closer and he paused. A little closer. He still hadn’t eaten it. She crawled out into the harsh light of the exam room and sat up straight. He gave her the chocolate and she shoved it in her mouth.

“Good girl,” he said. “Can you stand up?”

She still felt weak, but she placed a hand on the cot and used it to leverage herself up. It took all her strength, and winded her. The room spun. But he held out another piece of chocolate and she ate it gladly. She was waiting for him to call her a good girl again, but he didn’t.

“I brought you some clothes and shoes. I need you to change into them, and then we can go.”

She eyed the chocolate bar.

“If you get dressed, you can have the rest.”

He left the room. A pile of clothes sat folded on a table. They were new but recently laundered. A pink hoodie and sweatpants, a little large for her, but they wouldn’t have been before she’d been rescued. There was also a thick pair of socks and new sneakers in her size. She dressed as quickly as she could, but had to pause and sit down to several times. Once dressed, Beebee fit safely in the pocket of her hoodie. She opened the door.

Ben was leaning against the wall, waiting for her. She held out her hand for the chocolate. 

“One more thing,” he said, and pulled something from his pocket. It was a collar, soft brown leather with a little golden pendant. He looped it around her neck. She hissed from the sting as it slid against her chafed skin. “I know,” he said as he buckled it. “I have to. We can take it off later.” His fingers brushed against her as he secured it, and she winced, gritting her teeth to keep from pulling away.

Finally he gave her the rest of the chocolate, and while she devoured it, he clasped a leash to her. He tugged but she stood firmly to the spot, fear suddenly renewed now that it was clear this was really happening.

He went to grab her wrist but she stepped away from him and cowered against the wall. 

“I have another present for you,” he said. “In the car. But you have to come with me without a fuss.” 

She liked presents. Grandfather’s presents always made her happy, and Ben’s chocolate was very good. Still, it might be a trap, and it would be better to fight until he gave up than comply now and see his true colors later. He was being kind to her, but she knew from experience that kindness was always a lie. Even Grandfather’s came at a cost.

He reached his hand out, and when she didn’t take it, he went to grasp her arm. She yelped and tried to get away, but the leash wouldn’t allow it. 

“Okay, no touching,” he said, his hand raised, placating. “I don’t want to make you do things you don’t want to do. At home, you’ll have free reign. But right now you have to come with me.”

Home. She would have a home again. Maybe he had a nice cage waiting for her with lots of blankets, and a television, and more chocolate. But maybe he didn’t, and whatever waited for her was far worse. She couldn’t imagine what could be worse than the shelter, but she had to trust that there were terrible things waiting for her beyond what she could conceive.

But still. A present. It could be a trick. Perhaps there was no present. But maybe there was, and it would be wonderful and she’d be very happy. She hadn’t been happy in so long. And no matter what, she’d be outside. Out in the fresh air. 

She took a step toward him. In her pocket, she was clutching Beebee’s paw. Ben took a step back, toward the exit. She took another step. “Good girl,” he said, and the encouragement helped her continue forward, keeping a careful distance from him, as he guided her out of the building.

The sun was blindingly bright. The weather was cold, and snow was clumped in small gray hills around the enormous parking lot. The walk seemed to take forever. Halfway there, the asphalt began to waver beneath her feet and her head felt light. Soon the ground was coming up to meet her, but Ben caught her before she fell. Her brain shrieked in pain and fear as he hauled her up and carried her the rest of the way. Distantly she wondered if she wouldn’t get her present now because she’d made the walk to the car complicated, and hated herself for it.

He had a truck — expensive-looking, shiny, black. He settled her inside and strapped a seat belt across her. True to his word, a gift bag was waiting for her on the dash, but she didn’t dare touch it until he told her to. As he climbed into the driver’s seat, he nodded to it. “Go ahead.”

She took it, and he watched as she lifted the lime green tissue paper out. Inside sat a fluffy stuffed bear. She took it out of the bag. It was the softest thing she’d ever touched. Ivory, with a little red bowtie around its neck. A new friend. She would have to come up with a name. 

Ben was watching her carefully. “Like it?”

She nodded, and hugged the bear to her chest. Ben turned the ignition, and she watched the shelter shrink away as they drove off.

* * *

It was a long drive. She tried to stay awake but couldn’t, and when a last they parked, she opened her eyes to find it was night already, and they were in the driveway of a small house. It was shaped like a box, well-tended, the driveway and sidewalk thoroughly salted. The garage rumbled open and Ben crept into it. She was dehydrated, half-starved, and she should have been scared but she was too tired. Ben unclipped her seat belt and circled around to help her. He went to touch her, but thought better of it, and instead hovered there as she carefully climbed out of the truck.

“It’s not much,” he said as he led her inside, leash in hand, though it hung slack between them. “Not like where you came from, anyway.” Grandfather’s house had been enormous, with a dozen rooms, art on the walls, a crystal chandelier. Beta maids fed them and cleaned for them. 

They entered the house directly into the kitchen, small and modern, clean but not quite tidy. A couple dirty dishes sat in the sink, the day’s newspaper on the counter, coffee cold in its pot. She searched for a cage and found none. Maybe he had one in the basement.

He unclipped her leash and hung it over a peg by the door. “Guess I’ll give you the grand tour.” He seemed nervous. She wondered why he continued talking to her like she was a peer rather than a pet. Most alphas, the kind ones, cooed and baby-talked at her. The mean ones didn’t acknowledge her at all.

There was a small dining area at the far side of the kitchen with a circular table and four chairs, which led out through a sliding glass door onto a new-looking deck. The living room had a tattered blue couch and a mismatched recliner, similarly worn. The TV was disappointingly small, but at least he had one. He led her down a short hallway. “Bathroom,” he said, pointing to a closed door. He pointed to another and said, “My room.” Then he opened the door farthest along the hallway and flipped on the light. “And this is your room.”

She stepped inside. It seemed impossibly big to be all for her, although it couldn’t have been much larger than Grandfather’s closet. Workout gear was piled in a corner, a bench with a barbell overtop, some discarded dumbbells. The closet door was open and inside sat a few odds and ends — boxes and Christmas wrapping paper, but also several shirts and pants, too small and feminine to be his. Tags still hung from them.

At the opposite side of the room, a futon had been converted into a bed, covered with a light blue bed sheet, fluffy pillows, and a thick, lumpy duvet. She looked at him, frowning. Where was her cage?

“Problem?” 

She pointed to the bed.

“I’ve slept on it a few times. It’s not bad. I’ll get you a real bed soon.”

She shook her head firmly.

“You don’t want a bed.”

She nodded.

His face softened. “Look. No more cages, okay? This is your home. You can go where you want, when you want.”

That might have been true in the house, but she knew she couldn’t leave. If she was seen outside without a leash held by a beta or alpha, she’d get taken back to the shelter.

“C’mon,” he said, “let’s get you something to eat.”

* * *

He made them both a grilled cheese sandwich with a big glass of milk and for some reason had a bag of potato chips in the center of the table. He took a seat, and went to pick up his sandwich when he realized she hadn’t sat down.

He nodded to the chair opposite him. “Have a seat. Dig in.”

She was clutching her bear to her chest, her hoodie’s sleeves over her hands. Grandfather had never allowed her to sit at the table. She rarely even fed herself; he hand-fed her from his plate usually, or sometimes gave her a bowl. 

She knelt beside Ben’s feet.

“Oh, for —” He sighed. “You’re a person. Legally, physically, completely a person. You can sit at the table.”

She was ravenous, obviously, and still a little light-headed, but she wouldn’t budge. This was the way of things. This was how she liked it. 

“Fine,” he said. “But we’re not making a habit of this.” He handed her half his sandwich. She looked at it, and opened her mouth. Exasperated, he tore a strip of the sandwich off and fed it to her. She ate it and opened her mouth for another, and once he’d fed her a majority of both sandwiches and a significant number of potato chips, she drank her milk — holding the glass herself, which was okay — and waited for dessert. Grandfather always had dessert. Cookies, cakes, ice cream. It was the highlight of her day, and made what often came next more bearable. 

Ben held his hands up to show they were empty. “All gone. No more.”

She pulled the chocolate bar wrapper from her pocket and handed it to him. 

“You want more chocolate?”

She nodded.

“Let me see what I’ve got.” He rooted around in the kitchen for a while and came back with a bag of M&Ms. “Will these work?”

She nodded again, and didn’t need to prod him to get him to feed them to her, one by one. 

“Got a sweet tooth,” he said, smiling a little. 

In lieu of an answer, she opened her mouth again. She finished off the last few pieces, and he held the bag upside down to show it was empty. “Anything else?”

He paused, and shook her head.

“You hesitated.”

This was when Grandfather always gave her the drug, a little white pill with a glass of water. She usually tried to delay the inevitable by demanding more things, being playful, distracting him. Sometimes it would go on long enough that he didn’t end up giving her the drug or taking her to bed at all, and let her go back down to her cage to sleep.

She lowered her head and waited. She’d begun to shiver, and buried her face in the bear’s soft fur. 

“Okay,” he said gently, “let’s get you to bed.”

No drug. She didn’t like the drug, but it put her mind at ease, made things hurt less. Or at least, made her stop caring about the pain. She followed Ben into her room. She sat at the edge of the futon and he paused in the doorway. 

“Hold on,” he said, and went back down the hallway. She placed her bear on the pillow and Beebee beside it, and took off her clothes. Grandfather never liked messing with things like pants and underwear, so she wore a dressing gown all the time with nothing underneath.

She lay on her back, hands clasped over her bare stomach. The room was cold; goosebumps erupted over her skin. She was shaking terribly now — Ben had been so kind to her, which meant she would pay dearly for it. The nicer Grandfather was during the day, the crueler he could be at night. 

Ben returned moments later with a water bottle in hand. “It’s not cold yet, but —” He saw her and quickly averted his eyes. “Oh my god.”

She sat up and brought her knees to her chest. Tears were gathering in her eyes, and she tried to stop a sob from escaping but couldn’t. Grandfather hated when she cried. He boxed her ears until she stopped. 

Ben turned hesitantly toward her. “Jesus christ,” he breathed, and unfolded a blanket to drape around her shoulders. He sat at the edge of the futon, not touching her. “What did they do to you in there?”

She did the breathing exercises one of the maids had taught her, and felt so silly to be crying like this, when she hadn’t in years. It took a long time to pinpoint the difference, how she’d been able to control it so long but not anymore — hope. She’d never felt hope before. 

He spoke slowly, as if choosing his words with care. “I know you have expectations. And I can’t begin to understand the things you’ve been through. But I need you to know, this isn’t — like that. I’m not going to touch you that way. I’m not that kind of alpha.”

She took in a shuddering breath and wiped her wet face on the blanket. It had to be a lie. Rather, it was only a matter of time. Alphas were bred to take whatever they wanted. They were spoiled and entitled. They had no control over themselves. Betas were hardly better. 

He stood and made for the door. “There’s some clothes in the drawer and closet for you. If you want anything else, we’ll figure it out. I’ll be across the hall, okay?”

She nodded, and he left the door open a crack on his way out.

* * *

The next morning, she awoke to the creak of floorboards as Ben came into her room, and opened her eyes to see him crouching down by the futon and peering underneath, where she lay hidden in a nest of blankets. Once she’d given up trying to sleep on top of the futon, she slept very well. It had been years since she'd slept on a mattress — back when she was a little girl, before she had presented. 

He was wearing a plain t-shirt and sweatpants, and his hair was a mess. Half-asleep still, she sniffed the air. He smelled extra good in the morning. 

“This is going to be harder than I thought,” he said.

* * *

She convinced him to feed her again, bacon and toast and bites of scrambled egg, his hand beneath the fork should any fall. She ate until she was uncomfortably full, which didn’t take much, and he made her settle for orange juice as dessert until he could go to the store. She pouted until he told her she could have two desserts later.

He led her into the living room and tried to get her to come up on the couch, but she wouldn’t, and stayed knelt at his feet. 

“Are you feeling better today?” 

She gave a brief nod. It wasn’t entirely true — she still felt weak and tired, and her hands wouldn't stop shaking. She’d caught her reflection in the mirror earlier and was shocked by her appearance: dark circles under her eyes, thin limp hair, ribs and hips protruding obscenely. 

“There’s some stuff we need to go over.” He pulled out his phone and clicked around, as if he’d written a list on it. “I work weird hours. You know that. I might be gone overnight sometimes, or for an entire day. You’re going to need to learn to feed yourself. We’ll go to the store today and I’ll get you whatever you want.” When her eyes went wide, he added, “Within reason. You can’t live on sweets.”

Her face fell. But, she noted, he didn’t say he wouldn’t buy them. Just that she had to eat other stuff, too.

“Is there anything you need from me?”

She shook her head automatically, not wanting to seem ungrateful.

“I’m serious. I’ve never had an omega before. I won’t know what you need unless you tell me.”

She hesitated, and made a motion in the air as if to write something. He looked at her quizzically before gathering a pad of paper and pen from the table beside the couch. 

She’d learned to write when she was a child, back when her parents thought she’d present as an alpha, or at the very least a beta. They’d never had an omega in the family. Once she presented, Grandfather — who was not her real grandfather, but a friend of her father’s — agreed to take her off their hands and give her a good life, in exchange for claiming her. To their credit, her parents didn’t say yes right away. Claiming was an old-fashioned custom, a way to bind an omega to an alpha permanently. Nowadays it was impractical to make such a commitment, when omegas were bought and sold so frequently, and if you found one very young, there was no telling the ways in which they might change.

After she had presented, Grandfather didn’t allow her to speak or write. “Omegas should be seen and not heard,” he used to say as he booped her nose playfully. The punishment for speaking was so severe she did not let herself think about it anymore, and learned, over time, not to make a sound. Occasionally, though, when Grandfather was gone, she would have to communicate with the maids. They kept a dry erase board for her to use.

Still, it was a rarity, and the pen felt clumsy in her grip. The letters came out large, lines jagged with the shaking of her hand. BOOKS? she wrote out slowly, and held it up to him.

“You can read,” he said in amazement. “Yeah, of course. We’ll stop at the library.”

TV? she added.

He smiled when he saw it. “I can’t afford a new TV.”

She shook her head and pointed to the TV. 

“You’re asking if you can watch TV.”

She nodded.

“Yes, you can watch TV. Whenever you want.”

She breathed a long sigh of relief, and almost began crying again but shoved it down. She tried writing the next thing she needed, but she didn’t know how to spell it. SAP, she began, and crossed it out. SUPP, she added, and tore the page off to start new.

SUPRESENCE, she wrote, and held it up.

“Suppressants,” he said. “You need heat suppressants. Shit.”

She wrote a big question mark and showed it to him.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think about it. I’ll see what I can do, but — supply and demand. They’re hard to get right now, and they’re expensive.”

ME HEAT? she wrote.

“Yeah, you might go into heat. We’ll just have to deal with it when it happens.” He ran a hand over his face. “Full disclosure, I’ve never even known anyone who’s had an omega. I’ve been doing research, reading the Subreddit and whatever, but — I don’t know, I didn’t think it would be like this.”

She felt a pang of guilt. She didn’t want to be a burden. BAD? she wrote.

“No, not bad. I was just stupid to think that passing a law would change everything. My mom, she’s a senator —”

Her head shot up.

“She pushed for this,” he continued. “She’s the one who made this happen. And I supported her, you know? My family’s all alphas, but we’re not monsters. What does presentation have to do with anything?” 

Maybe she could get back to Grandfather after all. Surely he knew Ben’s mother. There couldn’t be that many senators. It seemed like a narrow chance, but it was possible. She’d finally go back to her cage and TV and stuffed animals and books. Maids and fancy desserts and silk dressing gowns. Her easy, predictable routine. 

“Hey,” he said, jarring her out of her thoughts. He gestured to the pad. “What’s your name? The shelter didn’t have it.”

At the very bottom of the page, as small as she could make it, she wrote, REY.

“Rey,” he read, smiling. “I’m Ben.”

* * *

She could count the number of times she’d ridden in a car on one hand, and now she’d been in one twice in the span of a day. Her collar was irritating her, but she didn’t want to bring it to his attention. She was a horrible inconvenience to him already, and feared that any moment he might change his mind and send her back to the shelter.

He’d let her bathe, and showed her how to use the shower, but when she frowned and pointed to the tub, he filled a bath for her. It had no bubbles, though, which was upsetting, so he added bubble bath to the list. He left her alone and she bathed as quickly as she could, reveling in the near-scalding water. At the shelter, the guards hosed them down en masse while omegas passed a single bar of soap down the line. If you were unlucky enough to be at the end of the line, you didn’t get any soap.

She picked out her own outfit from the clothes he’d bought her. Wisely, he’d chosen soft fabrics in pastel colors. She found a clean sweatshirt in baby blue with a cat’s face on it, and pants with snowflakes.

“Those are pajamas,” he’d said.

She looked down at herself. It didn’t make sense to her to differentiate some patterns and fabrics from others. And anyway, she thought she looked stylish. Ben lent her one of his coats. It hung on her like a tent.

“Whatever,” he said. “As long as you’re comfortable.”

She’d brought her bear with her, feeling guilty for leaving Beebee all alone, but he’d had a rough time lately and deserved his rest. 

It had begun to snow, and she watched the flakes fall into the windshield and melt. Ben flipped on the windshield wipers and she tracked them with her eyes, back and forth, back and forth. 

The store was bright and huge, packed with people. The mix of scents alone was unbearable. Betas and alphas, flooding the place. She couldn’t stop looking at all the colors, signs, lights, the impossibly high ceilings. Ben was less amazed, focused solely on getting a cart and heading into the store. She huddled close to him so he wouldn’t have to tug the leash. 

There were only a few omegas. She saw one, a boy around her age wearing a harness. He reached up to grab a box of cereal, only for his beta to smack it out of his hand. Rey pulled the sleeves of Ben’s coat over her hands and vowed not to touch anything.

It was difficult, when things were so bright and colorful, and begged to be touched. By the time they reached the candy aisle, her resolve was waning, but she dutifully stayed beside Ben, her eyes trained to the scuffed linoleum floor. When they reached the end of the aisle, Ben stopped and said, “So you don’t want any candy.”

He didn’t offer, and she didn’t want to be greedy. She shook her head.

He held a Snickers bar in front of her face and wiggled it. “Not even one little bar?” 

She loved Snickers bars, but she wouldn’t take the bait. She wouldn’t give him any excuse to take her back to the shelter.

“Oh, come on, you have to tell me what you want, otherwise I’ll get Whoppers.”

She wrinkled her nose.

“There we go. No Whoppers.”

He tossed the Snickers bar into the cart, and picked up an 8-pack of Reese’s Cups. “What about these?”

Her eyes widened. Reese’s Cups were the holy grail of all food. She loved them more than anything else in the world. Grandfather only bought them when someone at one of his parties went too far. 

“That’s a yes, then.” He tossed them in the cart with two more packages, because they were on sale. He threw in a bag of M&Ms too, and picked up a few others to get her input — Mike & Ikes (no), Twizzlers (yes), Kit-Kats (double yes). She wanted to be glad for all the candy, but wondered what he’d make her do to earn it.

The bubble bath was a similar struggle, in which she pointed to the cheapest and most boring-looking bottle, but he could tell she wasn’t excited about it, so he went through each one until finally landing on one that was so pink, so bright, with a big yellow duck on it, that it was clear it was the one she wanted.

By the time they were finished, their cart was full. She’d never had access to so much food at once. It was so expensive, though, and she felt horribly guilty, especially when the cashier dragged the bubble bath across the scanner and the screen blipped seven whole dollars.

Yet when the total came to almost two hundred, Ben didn’t bat an eye. He swiped his credit card, put the bagged groceries in the cart, and led her out of the store.

True to his word, he took her to the library. She picked out a single book, the fifth Harry Potter because it would take her longest to read, and it was the saddest. 

“We won’t be able to come back for another week,” Ben told her. “Pick out more if you need to.”

She added the third and fourth books since Sirius and Remus were her favorite characters. At home, she had all her books lined up neatly outside of her cage, the whole Harry Potter series in tattered paperbacks, many waterlogged since she liked to read in the bath, and occasionally dropped them. She’d have to treat these copies with much more care.

“Ready?” he asked.

She nodded.

* * *

He sat her on the closed toilet lid and opened the new first aid kit he’d bought at the store. She was clutching her bear to her chest. He held his hands up and said, “I need to touch you, okay? And it’s going to sting a little, but that’s just because it’s working. Not because I’m trying to hurt you.”

She stared at him, wary.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a Reese’s Cup. She gasped, and made a grab for it, but he pulled it away from her. “Chocolate is for good girls only.”

She tilted her chin up to give him access.

“There we go.” Gently, he unbuckled her collar and made a hissing noise through his teeth, as if had hurt him and not her. “I can't believe they did this to you.” 

He tore open a packet of something and swiped it across her neck. It stung the raw skin around her throat, and she bit her cheek to keep from making a noise. She was good at handling pain, though. Grandfather always used to compliment her on it.

“I’m sorry,” Ben said. “Not much longer.”

At last he finished, and closed the first aid kit. She smiled up at him and held out her hand.

“Very good.” He gave her the candy and she ate it immediately.

* * *

Ben had work the next day, and when Rey woke up, the house was empty. Other than those few days in the shelter, she’d never been completely alone before. On the fridge she found a note from Ben. His handwriting was huge and loopy, and pressed so hard into the paper that it left dents on the next page.

_ I’ll be home by 6. No candy. Be good. _

He signed it with the letter B, and a little heart beside it.

She opened the cabinets and settled on a bowl of cereal. She wasn’t sure how much to take, though, so she filled the whole thing. Why else would they make the bowl that size if not to fill it? But then, when she added the milk, it spilled everywhere. It was all too much and too stressful and she was so stupid, she thought, so so stupid. Why did Ben want her? Instead of cleaning it, she went back to her room and hid under the futon.

It took nearly an hour to gather her courage and face the mess she’d made. The cereal was soggy, and she used almost a whole roll of paper towels to clean it up. Then she couldn’t find the trash can, and took it all out to the big one in the garage. Finally, box of cereal in hand, she gritted her teeth and tried again. She filled half the bowl with cereal and half with milk. But then came the task of where to eat. At home, in Grandfather’s absence, a maid fed her. 

No one was around, though. She could sit at the table. She wondered if Ben was watching her somehow. He’d told her to be good, and sitting on the furniture was not being good. Using utensils — also not good.

She knelt by Ben’s chair at the kitchen table, and drank the cereal the same way she drank soup. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t easy, either, and by the time she finished, she resolved to only eat finger foods in Ben’s absence from then on. 

* * *

When Ben got home from work, she eagerly led him to her room to show him what she’d done. 

“This is,” he began. “Really?”

She’d made a nest in the corner of the room, and rearranged the futon, folded up, and the workout bench to be the other two walls. The entrance was under the futon. She’d draped a sheet over it and found a small lamp to set inside so she could read. 

When she noticed his response — angry, she thought, or at least, not happy — she set about taking it all down, and tried very hard not to cry.

“No, stop, just wait,” Ben said, and reached out to grab her arm, but she stepped away too quickly, cradling her it against her chest protectively. “It’s fine,” he said softly. “I just think we can make it better.” He looked at the nest again. “Less of a fire hazard.”

She tilted her head and frowned. She thought she’d done a good job.

“What about those little, like, Christmas lights?” he asked. “And more pillows and blankets. Sturdier supports. And I’ll get this junk out of here.” He gestured to the workout stuff in the corner. “We’ll make you a nest, okay? Just not a cage.”

Ben brought her a couple things at a time over the span of a week. Pillows and pink sheets and the softest blankets she’d ever felt. Fabric scraps and small shiny trinkets he found. White Christmas tree lights. A paper lantern. And finally, he came home with a big white box.

Rey climbed out from her nest — she was still using the futon as an entryway, even though she knew Ben didn’t like it — and inspected the box. It was long and narrow, and Ben had propped it against the wall. By now the room was completely empty except for Rey’s things. 

Ben cut open the box. Inside lay several poles and nylon. She couldn’t figure out what it was, until she saw the instruction booklet. The illustration on the outside was of a tent. 

She scrawled on her new dry erase board, TENT?

“So you don’t have to slither out from under that thing anymore.” He gestured to the futon. 

She sat on the floor and watched him set it up, unsure what to think. She’d come to like her nest and was very comfortable there. When Ben was finally finished and she saw the tent in full — very small, with a nicely rounded top — she started to understand.

He unzipped the door and gestured inside. “Go ahead.”

She crawled in. It was tall enough for her to sit up but not to stand. She could lie down flat without her feet touching either side. There was plenty of room for all her blankets and pillows, and she could string the lights up all around.

“Like it?” Ben asked.

She crawled back out, grinning.

* * *

At home with Grandfather, Rey had the same routine nearly every day. She liked routine, the expectedness of it, the simplicity. But Ben’s work schedule made having a routine hard. Some days he worked regular shifts like Grandfather used to, but others, he’d be gone until the early hours of the morning, and wouldn’t even make it to bed. She’d wake up to find him asleep in his recliner, and cover him with a blanket. A lack of routine made her feel unsettled, and when Ben was gone for long periods of time, she couldn’t help but think of Grandfather, and wonder if he would ever find her.

She did not let Ben touch her except for the occasional graze of his fingertips on her lips as he fed her. On the nights he was home, she curled up at his feet to watch television, silently annoyed by his tastes — he watched a lot of sports, which bored her, and true crime shows, which scared her. Every once in a while he handed over the remote and she turned on a cartoon to watch. But he seemed to hate cartoons, and so they were at an impasse. 

One night he wanted to watch a baseball game, and she was not up for that at all, so she stole the remote and turned it to the Cartoon Network_. _ He stole the remote back and said, “Remember when you used to be shy?” and flipped it back to the game. She allowed it for a couple minutes, and when he got up to get a beer, she turned the channel again.

He sighed when he returned. “I guess I’ll buy you a TV.”

She sat up straight and stared at him. Yes, she wanted her own TV, but she’d come to like her evenings with Ben, even if he did have terrible taste in television.

She got up and ran to her bedroom, rooted through her growing pile of books, and returned with the library’s copy of _ The Hobbit. _She handed it to him.

He glanced at it. “I’m not much of a reader.”

She handed it to him more forcefully.

“Okay, okay.” He took it. She sat back on the floor, this time facing him, and picked up the remote to turn off the TV. 

“You want me to read to you,” he said.

She nodded.

“Fantasy really isn’t my thing.”

She pursed her lips and stared him down.

“I miss when you were timid,” he said, but opened the book. He took a deep breath. “‘In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.’”

* * *

Ben seemed so sad sometimes. It was clear he tried to hide it, especially if Rey was around, but the moment he thought she wasn’t paying attention, he seemed weary. She wanted to be angry with him about everything — he had taken her from her home, thrown her in a place that almost killed her, and he continued doing it to other omegas every day. But she couldn’t be mad, when she saw the toll his work took on him, and knew that in the grand scheme of things, progress was being made, albeit at an extremely high cost.

She wanted to cheer him up, but there wasn’t much she could do. While he was at work, she drew him pictures, which he thanked her for and hung on the fridge. He’d bought her all sorts of art supplies, markers and colored pencils and paint, notebooks and sketchbooks. In secret, she was practicing her writing, building entire sentences, covering page after page in words. Sometimes they were her own, but mostly she wrote her favorite passages from books. Every night, she slipped her notebook under her nest so he wouldn’t find it. “Words have power,” Grandfather used to say. “The silence of omegas is necessary for a civil society.”

But she didn’t think Ben believed that. She was beginning to think she didn’t, either.

While Ben was reading to her one night — he read slowly, paused between each sentence, allowed her to savor the story — she was kneeling by him, and idly traced her finger over the arch of his bare foot. He inhaled sharply but didn’t stop reading. Hesitantly, she wrapped her hand around his ankle, waiting for him to admonish her in some way. When he didn’t, she hooked her arm around his calf and rested her head on his thigh.

If it made him any happier, she couldn’t tell. The next morning, as he was cleaning up after breakfast, she came up behind him and put her hands on his bare back. He was shirtless more often than he wasn’t, and at first she’d been afraid to look, but now she stared openly at him, knowing he didn’t notice either way. He didn’t seem to have any idea how beautiful he was. 

“Yes?” he said, his voice scratchy. At home, the drugs made her sleep until noon. Here, the sound of the shower often woke her up at six in the morning, and she didn’t want to miss any opportunity to spend time with him, so she dragged herself out of her nest and knelt at his feet while he ate a silent breakfast and fed her scraps.

She ran her fingertips lightly down his back and watched as goosebumps erupted across his skin. He turned around and looked at her, reached out to touch her, but she stepped away. He held his hands up in apology. “Got it. You can touch me, but I can’t touch you.”

She liked that idea very much. She stepped closer, and put her hand at the side of his neck. His skin was warm, and he was staring intently at her. She traced her fingertips over his lower lip and watched his eyes flutter shut. He tilted his head into her touch. His arm twitched and tensed, as if he were holding himself back. 

“Good girl,” he said quietly. Something swelled in her, and she could no longer stifle a smile. He opened his eyes and smiled back, eyes flicking down to her mouth. “I have to get ready.”

She stepped away reluctantly. He paused as if wanting to say something more, and left to get dressed.

* * *

That day seemed to last longer than the others. She wrote more than usual, and every time she looked at the clock, it might as well have been moving backward. Finally she heard the garage door open, and she situated herself as she always did, kneeling by the door to greet him. He’d never told her to do that, but she liked to be the first thing he saw when he came home, collar on her neck and tag glittering in the light. He came inside, his face haggard, and when he saw her, his spirits seemed to immediately lift.

She rested her head on his leg as they ate, and tonight Ben didn’t turn on the TV at all. When he retired to the living room, he opened the book right away and continued where he left off. She was having trouble paying attention, though, and couldn’t stop thinking about touching Ben all over. 

Maybe he would get mad at her, she thought, though it had been weeks since she arrived and he hadn’t punished her or admonished her once. If he had any rules, she didn’t know them, and even if she broke one, she wasn’t sure there would be any consequences. So she crawled onto his lap. He stopped reading so she could get comfortable. She curled up on him, her head tucked into the crook of his neck. His body was big and warm and solid.

He continued reading. She closed her eyes and listened to his voice reverberate through his chest, and played with the strings of his hoodie, wrapping them around her fingers, chewing on them. Bilbo Baggins lost his brass buttons running away from Gollum and she tried not to cry. It was her least favorite part of the whole book, and she was so immersed that she didn’t startle when Ben’s hand curled over her hip, his thumb lightly brushing across her skin.

She didn’t realize she’d dozed off until he flipped off the lamp and carried her to bed. He laid her gently in her nest, and as he tugged a blanket over her, she cupped his face in her hand. 

“Goodnight, baby,” he said, and kissed her palm. Suddenly she was awake, her entire body alight. For once she didn’t flinch at his touch, and as he zipped up her tent, she already wanted him back.

* * *

They were almost done with _ The Hobbit_, but their progress was slow. Rey made a habit of trying to distract him, perched on his lap while she peppered him with kisses — the shell of his ear, his neck, the corner of his mouth, the knuckle of each of his fingers. Once, she nibbled his earlobe, and he nearly dropped the book. When he looked at her, irritated, she pressed a light kiss to his lips and quickly pulled back. She hadn't kissed his mouth before.

“So you can kiss me but I can’t kiss you,” he said.

She nodded smugly and kissed him again. He didn’t try to kiss her back, but the amused glimmer in his eyes told her he was enjoying it.

“We’re never going to finish this.”

He finally put the book down. She straddled his thighs and started playing with his face, squishing his cheeks, pulling at his lip, tracing her finger down his profile, all the way to his clavicle, and watched the muscles of his throat contract as he swallowed. 

“Enjoying yourself?” 

She pressed her forehead to his. His eyes merged into one. She laughed. She hadn’t laughed in so long, since before she presented. 

“What’s so funny?”

Your face, she wanted to say. Your dumb, strange, lovely face.

But she couldn’t say that or anything else, so she kissed him again, this time for longer. She’d always hated kissing — Grandfather made it, like everything else, torturous — but kissing Ben was different, maybe because he wasn’t kissing her back, and she was just peppering his lips, biting them. There was a tension in his jaw, his arms too as his hands gripped the armrests, and a near-silent growl in his throat. Sometimes she forgot he was an alpha, and then she’d catch his scent, or hear a low rumble in his chest, and be reminded of how much power he held, how easy it would be to throw her down, have his way with her, hurt her, kill her. Grandfather never let her forget.

“Let me kiss you,” he said. “Please.”

She shook her head, still smiling, and wondered if he’d do it anyway, if her “no” meant anything to him. He never touched her unless she initiated it, and whenever she showed doubt, he was quick to move away or apologize. 

She ran her tongue across his lower lip. His breath hitched, but he didn’t move to kiss her, or even touch her. She smiled wider, and he looked confused. She couldn’t tell him thank you, but she could squeeze her eyes shut and scrunch her nose up, which was how she showed her appreciation to the maids whenever they did something nice for her. 

He did it back, and she felt something twist in her chest.

“Come on,” he said, “let’s get you to bed.” She wrapped her arms around him, and he picked her up to take her to her room. 

* * *

She started kissing him all the time — when he left for work, when he came home, when he took her to bed. She kissed any part of him she could reach, sure at any moment he would snap and either tell her to stop or bend her over something and take her. But he never did, and she grew addicted to pushing his buttons. She found he had seemingly infinite patience, even when she tugged gently at his ears and hair, bit and scratched him (though not hard), and tried to tickle him while he ate. He responded with everything thing from apathy to adoration, but he never told her to stop. He never got angry or hurt her. 

The ultimate test: Ben put dinner on the table one night — macaroni and cheese with Texas toast, her favorite, in part because it was all yellow and there were no vegetables — and took a seat. She stood there, watching him, until he said, “Well?”

Heart racing, Beebee held tightly to her chest, she pulled out a chair and eased herself onto it.

He wasn’t mad at her at all. In fact he seemed delighted. “Good girl,” he told her, and gave her her own bowl and fork and everything, and when she held the fork awkwardly in her fist, he showed her how to hold it the right way. The chair was uncomfortable so she ended up kneeling on it like she did on the floor, but Ben didn’t mind. As she ate, he kept glancing at her and looking away when she noticed.

* * *

She could not get out of bed. Her whole body ached, and she was sweating but also shivering, and had spent the night flitting in and out of sleep. She had no idea what time it was, or if Ben had already gone to work. She didn’t want him to see her like this, suddenly broken somehow, and take her back to the shelter.

Distantly she heard someone come into her room, and the zipper of her tent as it opened. “Hey,” Ben said, “what’s wrong?” as if she could answer. He placed a gentle hand on her head. “You’re burning up. Come here.”

He wrapped her in a blanket and picked her up. She went without a fuss. He had to go to work, though, and she couldn’t delay him by being sick. Every inch of her skin felt like it wanted to crawl away from her. The dim sunlight through the clouds was too bright, the furnace too loud. Even Ben’s breathing bothered her. And his smell — normally she loved it but now it was cloying, like a thick fog; she could hardly breathe. He sat in his chair and she curled up on him, and watched drearily as he started googling things on his phone.

“Are you in pain?” he asked.

She hesitated, not wanting to admit how badly it hurt, but nodded.

“Overheated?”

She nodded again.

“Hungry?”

She shook her head. The thought of eating made her want to puke.

“Have you felt like this before?”

She paused again. It had been a long time, far less intense than this, and it only happened once before Grandfather had bought her the suppressants. 

“Have you?”

She nodded slowly.

“You’re going into heat.”

She knew that already, but didn’t want to admit it. Her first heat had been cut abruptly short, not even twenty-four hours and she was back to normal. She’d never gone through all three days of it. 

He held her close, which was both comforting and made her want to claw him open. “I was hoping the suppressants had built up in your system. I’ve been trying to get my hands on some, but there’s a huge shortage. Everything I’ve found is either laced with something else or too expensive.”

Her heart throbbed in her ears and tears gathered in her eyes. Ben would surely snap now. No alpha could deny an omega in heat. He would have to breed her, lock her up somewhere, or send her away. It was ruined, everything was ruined, all because of her stupid worthless body. 

“Hey, hey,” he said. “It’s okay. We’ll get through this.”

She shook her head, and even that hurt. Reality began to spin around her, slowly at first and then rapidly, and she thought she might be sick.

He took her face in hand and forced her to look at him. She blinked slowly, groggy and nearing delirium. “I’m not going to breed you, okay? No matter how good you smell, no matter how much you beg. Maybe one day we’ll, you know. But only when you’re yourself. Only if you want it.”

Before the heat had a chance to overtake her, she surged forward and kissed him. His lips twitched but he still didn’t kiss her back. She touched his bottom lip with the tip of her finger, then her own, and nodded. He gave her a look to ask if she was sure, and she nodded again. He pressed his lips to hers, gently, and she was the one to deepen the kiss, to lick the seam of his mouth and press her tongue to his. She thought she might drown in his smell, and began to feel the slick gathering between her legs. 

He broke the kiss but kept his forehead pressed against hers. "You'll be okay. I promise."

* * *

Ben called off work. Guilt was her last conscious thought before she descended somewhere dark and empty. She could not think or feel anything other than a heartbeat pulse of _ want, want, want. _Hours passed with every blink. Somehow she was no longer in her regular clothes, but a large t-shirt, one of Ben’s, without underwear. Her legs were too hot, her slick sliding down her bare thighs while she writhed. 

Lucidity came in fits and bursts. She would come to and see Ben sitting against her bedroom door; his breathing escaped him raggedly and his whole body was tense. His hands were balled into fists, and she could feel rather than hear the undercurrent of his growl vibrating through the ground. She crawled to him, crying and shivering, and knelt before him. A puddle quickly pooled between her knees, its consistent drip loud on the hardwood floor. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. She had sweated through her thin t-shirt. The place between her legs was so swollen and sensitive it was painful.

She straddled Ben’s lap. He didn’t push her away. His wide hand curled around her bare thigh and his fingers pressed into her skin. 

_ Please, _she mouthed silently against his throat. He gripped her more tightly. She rutted against him, soaking his clothes, imagining him mounting her, his knot filling her while he bit the gland at the back of her neck, the one already marked by Grandfather. Ben’s teeth would be sharper, his bite harder. But he never would, because she had been claimed before, and no one would ever want her as their own.

She could feel his cock harden against her. All he had to do was touch her there. She’d take his fingers or his mouth. She’d rut over his foot if she had to. Any contact, any skin against hers would relieve her. With shaking hands, she began fumbling with the button of his jeans, and he pulled her away, his fingers entwining in hers. “No, baby,” he said softly. She nearly sobbed. He brushed her soaked hair off her forehead and kissed her temple. “It’s almost over. Just a little longer.”

He never left her, not even to sleep. He carried her outside so she could get some fresh air. He put on her favorite cartoons. He wrapped her in blankets when she was cold and took them away when she grew overheated. He growled and bared his teeth when she would try to grope at him, disrobe him, get him somehow to touch her. He was as firm with her as he was gentle. At her worst, she was like an animal, equal parts affectionate and violent. She made him bleed, a claw mark down his neck. He did not get angry with her, only held her hands until the rage subsided. When she was lucid, she wept in guilt and grief and fear. She half-dreamed she was back at home, and Grandfather had refused to give her the drug, and she endured the things he did to her fully conscious, screaming and crying and begging him to stop. She dreamed she was at the shelter, alone in the dark, starving. Then Ben would touch her cheek, or wrist, or knee, and she would see him, and know that she was safe.

* * *

When she awoke on the third morning, she felt normal again, and extremely hungry. Ben had dozed off on the futon, her leash held loosely in his hand. She unclasped it from her collar and went to take a bath. He was still asleep when she returned and got dressed in her normal clothes, and asleep still as she put all her blankets in the wash. He awoke only from the smell of bacon and found her in the kitchen as she was preparing breakfast.

He placed his hand on the back of her neck, his palm over Grandfather’s mark. “Feeling better?”

She nodded, and did not flinch away from him this time, but leaned closer. He wrapped her in his arms and held her. 

“I’ll find suppressants,” he said. “I won’t make you go through that again.”

* * *

It took another few days, but he found some, the kind she was used to, lined up neatly in a little foil package. They tasted bad so he let her drink them with chocolate milk. She didn’t want to ask how he had gotten them or how much they had cost. With Grandfather, she never had to think about money or access to whatever she needed, but she hated the idea of putting Ben out in any way, when he was already overworked, when she knew money was tight.

They finished _ The Hobbit. _They kissed every day, multiple times a day, innocent kisses hello and goodbye and good morning and goodnight. She fell asleep on his lap most evenings, and he carried her to bed and tucked her in. She tried to help take care of the house, and learned bit by bit how to feed herself and clean. She wrote the things she needed on a list by the fridge, and they went to the store together every weekend. He never denied her anything.

She was rinsing off her dishes from lunch — a sandwich, which she’d eaten perched on the couch, not yet ready to sit comfortably or lay on it, but at least she was no longer on the floor. Ben was at work; it would be a long shift, he told her, a fighting pit raid, and she worried about him, the danger he put himself in, the long hours he worked. She wished she could do more for him than she did, but somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to feel bad about her presence in this house, when Ben made it so clear she was welcome here, and he was glad for her company. He had never said it, but she knew he’d been lonely before she arrived. She made herself useful. Somehow, just by being herself, she made him happy. 

She almost didn’t want to go home anymore, she thought, and dropped the spoon she was scrubbing. She didn’t want to go home. No, she didn’t want to go back to Grandfather’s. The house, her nest, Ben — this was her home. She didn’t need her cage to feel safe. She had all the books in the world. Her favorite sweets. Comfy clothes and blankets and stuffed animals. She was no longer waited on hand and foot, but she didn’t need to be. She could help herself now.

It was a risk, but she decided she had to do it. She had to tell Ben how she felt.

* * *

That night, she couldn’t sleep. She lay awake waiting for the sound of the garage door. Finally, well past midnight, she heard it, and crept out of her room to hide in the shadows and peer around the corner. Ben came in still wearing his Kevlar, helmet in hand which he tossed on the counter along with his keys. He flipped on the light, and looked exhausted as he ran his hand through his sweaty, matted-down hair. 

Just as she predicted, he went for a beer, and stopped when he saw it — the letter she’d written him, magnetized to the fridge. He slipped the magnet off and leaned against the counter to read it.

_ Dear Ben, _she’d begun, worried at first she sounded too formal, but after several drafts realized there was no better way to begin. 

_ Thank you for adopting me. I like living here. It is better than where I came from. It took me a long time to see that. I like that I don’t have a cage. I like that you don’t make me eat vegebles. I like when you read to me. I like when you tell me I am good. Grandfather never said I was good. He did bad things to me but I didn’t know they were bad. I do now. I am happy here with you. Thank you for being good to me. _

_ I am sorry Grandfather claimed me. I wish it had been you. _

She’d signed it the way Ben signed things, a heart beside a big R.

_ PS, _ she’d added. _ My bear is Artee and my dog is Beebee. _

Ben finished reading and put the letter down. She waited excitedly to see what he would do, but he only stood there blankly. Then his chin began to tremble and he covered his face with his gloved hand. That wasn’t at all what she expected; she wanted him to be happy.

She came out from the shadows. A floorboard creaked, and he glanced at her, eyes red-rimmed. “Come here,” he said. She approached him warily, and he hugged her, his mouth pressed to the crook of her neck. He held her for a long time, and when at last he pulled away, he tilted her chin up and kissed her. This one wasn’t soft or playful at all, but something far deeper, longer, and stirred something inside her she’d never felt. He lifted her off the ground and set her on the counter to kiss her properly. 

When he pulled away, he looked her in the eye and said, “I’m so glad I found you.”

She wanted to agree, but it had been almost ten years since she’d last used her voice, and didn’t think she knew how anymore. It didn’t matter — Ben captured her mouth again, and they kissed for a while longer. 

“Do you want to come to bed with me?” he asked.

She didn’t like the idea of sleeping on a real mattress, and part of her was afraid of what would happen if she let an alpha take her to bed. But she quelled her fears by reminding herself that she trusted Ben, and he would never do anything she didn’t want.

She nodded, and he picked her up and carried her to bed, where he held her close, and fell asleep quickly.

* * *

In the middle of the night, she got up to use the restroom, and when she returned, Ben had woken up. He didn’t say anything as she slid beneath the covers with him and curled up once more at his side. He ran his thumb over her collar. She fell back asleep quickly, with his hand gently cradling her neck.

She awoke late the following morning, close to ten. Ben was at her back, his arm draped heavily over her. She played with his hand, pressed hers to his and marveled at the difference in size and texture. His was enormous and as rough as sandpaper. She should get up, she thought, and make breakfast for them, but she was enjoying herself too much. Ben shifted, and his breathing turned shallow. He pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. His hips moved against her backside, and she felt something hard against her. The feeling she had last night, when she kissed him, returned. It wasn’t unlike her heat, but it felt more pleasant, more contained. Curiously, she tilted back toward him and stifled a smile as he exhaled a small groan. 

“Show me what you want,” he said, his mouth grazing her neck, tip of his nose bumping the shell of her ear. She took his hand and dragged it down her body, between her legs. “You sure?” he whispered, and she nodded, and he began rubbing her over her thin pajama bottoms. 

No one had ever touched her like this — slow and patient, for the sake of her pleasure alone. He slipped his hand down her pants and she rolled on her back and spread her legs for him. He had his forehead propped on his palm and he was watching her as he stroked her. She was embarrassed by how wet she was, and embarrassed more by how quickly her orgasm rose. She’d had them before, of course, but they were incidental, and she had no feeling toward them one way or another. This, however, was far more intense, with Ben watching her, touching her with the intention only of pleasing her. 

When she came, she covered her mouth with her hand and struggled to remain silent. With her other hand, she gripped his arm, pleasure crashing over her, nearly unbearable. She thought when this happened, she’d hate it, and Ben would finally show his true colors — he’d lose his composure, tear her clothes off, roll her on her belly and sink into her while she struggled not to cry. But he only sucked his fingers into his mouth to taste her, and she could feel the bed vibrating with the inaudible growl in his chest. 

When she went to grasp him — shocked by his size, unable to touch her middle finger to her thumb around it — he pulled her away. “Not yet,” he said. She wanted to know why, but had no way to ask, and he was already climbing out of bed. 

* * *

This was not the way things were supposed to be. Hesitantly, she came to admit to herself that she was happy, and that Ben would not hurt her. Every day he seemed to love her a little more than the day before — the way he kissed her, the pleased sound he made when she sometimes crawled into bed with him, the voices he used when he read to her, how he sometimes stared at her drawings on the fridge as if they were real art. 

One night, they were kissing in his bed, and he’d managed to take off her clothes, all but her collar. She thought she should have been afraid, but she wasn’t; she was eager to get rid of the annoying layers between them. He kissed down her body, settled between her legs, and pressed his mouth against her. She nearly yelped in surprise. No one had ever done that to her before. She’d only allowed one pass of his tongue before she crawled away from him.

“No?” he said. His mouth was shining and there was a glint in his eye she’d come to love, the one that told her he wanted her, that reminded her he was an alpha.

Her body was still ringing from the single press of his tongue. It was bewildering for an alpha to do such a thing, debase himself in that way for his omega. And yet she found herself opening her legs again and allowing him to continue. She came more times than she could count, until she was silently begging him to knot her. She felt so empty, so wanting, almost as if she were in heat again. She tried to drag him into her, but he only teased her with the head of his cock at her entrance while he kissed her. The amount of slick she had produced was obscene. 

“Are you sure, baby?” he asked softly as he nosed down her neck. “You want to take my knot?”

She nodded, but wanted to scream yes. She had never wanted anything more in her life. When he finally entered her, she felt as though she were coming apart. Nothing had ever filled her so much or so well. He was gentle with her at first, but when she made it clear she wanted more, he let go of his reservations, and for the first time lowered his restraint, his hand clasped around her throat, thrusting into her hard and fast while his knot began to grow inside her. She came again as he reached his release, and a second time as his come filled her. She was pressed so full of him she could hardly breathe. 

As they lay together with his knot inside her, foreheads touching while they breathed in unison, she thought for the first time how good it would feel, to let him breed her.

* * *

The doorbell rang. Ben was in the backyard, painting Rey’s new bookshelves blue. She was washing the windows, occasionally catching his eye and smiling at him. It was the first warm day in months. 

She opened the door and recognized the man behind it but couldn’t think of his name, or where she’d seen him before. He didn’t smile at her or even speak, just clipped a leash to her collar and yanked her out of the house. She struggled, but he was stronger than her, and then she saw it — in the back of the man’s car sat Grandfather, placidly watching the whole thing. Jango, she remembered. Grandfather's driver.

She managed to unbuckle her collar, stumbled back, and fell hard onto the grass. Jango growled and threw her over his shoulder. She kicked and struggled some more, and they’d only made it halfway across the yard when she screamed, “Ben! Help!”

It seemed like eternity but was only a matter of seconds before Ben came racing around the house. “Put her down,” he said, in his authoritative rescuer voice, but the man ignored him. Ben stood between him and Grandfather. Jango continued on, and shoved Ben out of the way. Ben made a grab for Rey, and managed to pull her from the man’s grasp, and she fell again, this time on the asphalt driveway. It tore at the skin of her arms and face. Ben and Jango had begun to fight. They grappled in a way that was not at all graceful, awkward and hard, elbows to faces, stumbling and trying to stay upright. Ben swung a punch across the man’s jaw, and the man fell, seeming to black out for a few seconds. 

Grandfather still hadn’t gotten out of the car, and looked upon the whole thing as if bored. Rey was halfway between the car and the house, and for a moment she caught Grandfather’s eye and thought longingly of her cage and TV and bathtub, the maids and their big home-cooked meals. Routine. The sweet simplicity of the drug and the long stretches of blankness they gave her. 

But Grandfather was mean to her even when he was trying to be nice. He didn’t love her; he owned her. She was just a body to him. Ben loved her. And even though she had to cook and clean sometimes, and felt guilty that Ben spent so much money on her, and had to endure _ hours _of baseball every week — she loved Ben, too. She thought love was something found only in books, a fantasy like everything else, but she now she had it. Now she knew it was real. 

She made it to her feet and ran back into the house. In Ben’s closet, behind all his uniforms, stood a rifle. She hadn’t meant to find it. She’d been hanging up his clothes and caught sight of it once, picked it up and inspected it. Later that night, she’d dragged him into the bedroom and pointed to it, demanding to know why he had such an awful thing in the house.

“Coyotes,” he said, as if it were obvious. He took her out back, lined up some tin cans on a log, and showed her how to shoot. 

She took the rifle and ran back outside. Jango had gotten Ben into a headlock. They were on the ground, and Ben was struggling to break free. Rey raised the rifle and said, slowly and clearly, focusing on shaping each syllable: “Go away.”

Finally Jango let go of Ben and scrambled away. She followed him with the nose of the rifle, all the way to the car, where, inside, Grandfather was yelling. She heard the word “coward” and he pointed toward Rey as if to make him try again. Rey lowered the rifle slightly and shot the side of the car. Grandfather stared at her angrily, and for a moment she wondered if he might get out and retrieve her himself. She shot again, this time a little higher, close to the window. She considered killing him, but omegas accused of murder were given the death penalty without trial. That might be different now, but still — it wasn’t worth it.

Grandfather had rolled down his window and began yelling at her, all the things he used to say when he was angry, about how worthless she was, how ungrateful, disgusting, and so on, but she chose not to listen, and watched as the driver backed out and sped away. She shot once more, just to see Grandfather jump.

Finally, once the car had sped over the hill and was no longer in sight, she lowered the rifle. Ben was staring at her. 

“You can talk,” he said.

She nodded.

“I want you to talk. Talking is good.” He stepped closer to her, a hand on her scuffed chin. Jango had done a number on him — a bruise spanned the right side of his jaw, and a cut on his forehead ran a stream of blood down his face. “Say something.”

She hesitated. _ Seen and not heard, _her mind screamed at her, but fell silent as Ben looked on her, excited and happy, not seeming to care at all that he was bleeding all over himself. 

“Ben,” she said.

She’d barely gotten the word out before he kissed her. Between kisses she said it again, and again, and laughed gleefully until all the fear she'd held for years rapidly faded away.

* * *

He swiped her hair from the back of her neck as he entered her. His hand curled possessively over her throat, her collar. He thrust into her slowly, his voice was ragged by her ear: “You want this, baby?"

Legally, she was already his, but this would make it real, would extinguish the anger and pain Grandfather left in her, and erase his mark etched into her neck. “Yes,” she said, meeting each of his movements, hips canted up so he could push as deep as he could get. “Ben. Please.”

He never seemed to tire of her saying his name. She was still re-learning how to speak, but his name always fell from her lips easily, whether whining for more chocolate, or greeting him after a long day of work, or moaning it into his ear as she came. She could feel his knot begin to form. His teeth teasingly scraped the back of her neck. She could feel the warmth inside her rise to a boiling heat, and squeezed her eyes shut, imagined Grandfather’s mark completely eclipsed by Ben’s.

Ben’s teeth sank into her skin, around her gland. She came hard, with a burst of blinding pleasure and pain. His hand tightened around her throat. She hung limply from his jaw, could feel his heart racing against her back, the blissful stretch of his knot as it popped inside her. She was his. Finally, she was his.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm bettsfic on tumblr.


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